


nothing ends

by CampionSayn



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Character Development, Gen, Haunting, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Tumblr Prompt, nobody knows the name of Kurt's sister so I can do what I want, references to 9/11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: Veronica learned a lot of things from the ghosts that she couldn't leave behind, even after leaving Sherwood. Some obvious, some that couldn't even be learned in a parapsychology class among people that ACTUALLY believed in ghosts.





	nothing ends

**Author's Note:**

> Color prompts are NOTHING like normal writing prompts and that's why this took fucking forever, I'm so sorry.

A funny list of things that Veronica found out the older she got and the farther she strayed from Sherwood after graduating her horror movie theme of a senior year, were also things she'd never tell another living person.

Nobody would believe her, anyway.

* * *

 _1\. Ghosts are real; people just need to notice them before they can really_ exist _._

Jason came to her two weeks after his funeral, after his father had packed up all traces of ever having been in Sherwood and not even enough of a decent person to keep anything that once belonged to his son; most of JD's possessions, minimal as they were, ending up in a garage sale or given to the Goodwill.

She kept his music collection, some of his shirts and his saxophone that she'd never gotten to hear him play, but could easily imagine him using it to annoy his father and temporary neighbors in moments of his own teen angst.

Teen angst not a manifestation of meeting her and spiraling, that is. The normal kind, the kind that she missed and appreciated in their first few moments together.

Heather hadn't liked it, Ram and Kurt sneering and making the worst kind of gay jokes that first week in her mourning, but then she'd hidden in the bathroom, tucking herself into JD's biggest shirt and curled up for six hours sobbing.

They could have easily floated right through the wall and dragged out her emotions like she probably would have in their positions; desperation to show how bad everything was without a hint of it getting better and it being her own fault...

But her crying was one of the very few things that seemed to remind them that, though they sucked at it, they were once human beings and not this vague approximation that went unseen like smoke fumes before a fire broke out. Her tears and feelings of worthlessness made them uncomfortable, so they always left her alone in these moments.

Which is why Veronica knew it was JD when the soft cold settled around her like an attempt at comfort and she didn't flinch away at the feeling of another forehead resting against her own that night after the clock struck twelve and that god-awful clock her parents owned in the den started chiming.

_"Hey, now, darling, it's okay..."_

* * *

2.  _The people who die of natural causes or accidents usually move on to whatever came next. Murder victims like Heather, Ram and Kurt, weren't very strong; they could be interactive, but they had to have a conduit of some kind._ (Probably why the assholes stuck around Veronica even after everything was said and done.) _...And then there were the suicides. Taking up the majority of reasons why things went bump in the night and the least likely to ever leave once they'd latched onto a conduit that could allow them to influence whatever they felt like._

Kurt had been the first to make this clear after he'd tried to visit his sister around the end of the year when graduation was upon all living humans under the age of eighteen, from one place to another. Veronica's own graduation taking place while she remained home among her ghosts; completely uninterested.

The graduation ceremony for middle school kids was more for adoring parents with camcorders than it was for the kids, but both Kurt and Ram found they couldn't get near the site without Veronica at least half a mile near.

So in their conjoined moment of desperation, they had gone about trying what they could with picking things up around Veronica's house where her parents could easily notice.

A chair levitating in the dining room.

A sugar tin spinning in place among her great-grandmother's favorite tea set.

All of Veronica's clothing from her time spent around Chandler while she was alive picked up and thrown at the ceiling fan that had been spinning at a full tilt since Veronica said she wouldn't go when she'd only seen Kurt's sister Heidi one time during the funeral for the boys and it would be weird.

By the time Veronica's two favorite black bras had been spinning on a fan blade, Kurt had finally suggested something that would make her change her mind, especially since it was actually a good idea and she was too exhausted from them using her energy like a battery system to argue.

 _"I'm not asking you to **attend** ,"_ Kurt had enunciated, hovering over her in the kitchen as she stood beside the sink and peeled an orange with all the vigor of the walking dead,  _"I'm asking you to put on some pants and shoes, drive to the ceremony and, like, hide behind a tree or something until it's over."_

"Why do you care about this, Kurt? You didn't even care about your  _own_  academic achievements," she groaned, sliding her unpolished fingernail up the lining of the orange peel, catching small drops of the juice with her thumb and sucking it off absently.

 _"She's my sister,"_  he grit out, serious and honest as he sat at the counter,  _"We're all stuck with you forever, and when you go to college, it's gonna be out of state. I know you're not gonna wanna come back, so this might be my last chance to see her of my own volition before your life gets in the way. I just really...I wanna see her and, y'know, wish her luck. Even if she doesn't know."_

That wasn't for sure; nothing like what they could have assumed was ever for sure, giving life and its infinite possibilities and probabilities.

But.

She ended up going, not at all because she was inclined to give Kurt anything that he wanted, but because it might give her some fresh air and the ability to think for more than five minutes without one of them giving her disorganized thoughts that made her spiral for hours.

And anyway, once she found a tree out of sight...but near enough that she could hear the names called for all the children that would move onto being freshman in the fall, Kurt and Ram went to the front of the procession. Veronica was left with Chandler commenting on the fashion choice of the adults she could see from the back and JD, though quiet and exuding cold air in the summer heat at his irritation, remained in a crouched position beside Veronica as she picked at some curling, fluffy dandelion heads.

_"Don't you ever make wishes on those?"_

"...Not for a while."

* * *

_3\. There is oppression and possession available to ghosts that are with conduits long enough and can exploit emotions to their advantage. Possession takes a heavy toll, which is why blackouts occur nine out of ten times; oppression causes exhaustion and while less problematic, once done and dusted, it damages the psyche more than the body._

But sometimes this is good.

Chandler, when she felt obliged to "assist" Veronica once she left college, got a job in NYC and could, well,  _afford_  it, often borrowed Ronnie's body for the sake of improving her minuscule wardrobe. The consistent theme of which was the ever romantic and revitalizing black, when not complimented by lovely midnight blue.

The sarcasm was unappreciated, but Veronica didn't complain the following day when she woke up late for work, feeling absurdly tired for having been unconscious while her body was in use, to find a third of her closet filled with a feast of red.

She practically growled like the Beast from that Disney movie that won an Academy Award as she checked the tags still attached to the fabrics; the smell from the kitchen telling her that JD had found the pre-packaged French Toast and started some up in the microwave and only calming her down enough so she didn't go on a rampage that would do nothing but exhaust her energy stores that were already constantly low because of her ghosts basically using her like a battery.

 _"You're welcome,"_  Heather hummed, ringing from the kitchen next to the crappy 1993 coffee maker that was two years old and still retained permanent ink from an all-night prank war Veronica had to suffer through in her last year of college,  _"Try the pink camisole; it's one of the few pretty ones I could afford on your paralegal salary."_

 _"Ooh, and use the white long shirt with the crimson pants,"_  Ram suggested from the dining table, fidgeting with his grey incorporeal form like he and Kurt often did once they learned that borrowing her body meant they could use some of her essence to clothe themselves; that morning trying to choose between a David Bowie or Tupac look,  _"They go with your black heels."_

 _"Or her chunky clogs. Not the brown ones, though!"_  Kurt added from the sofa, decked out and looking very similar to Kurt Cobain before the heroin really took its toll on him,  _"The brown ones will make you look like you stole those clothes, Ronnie."_

On the one hand, she could listen to them and for once in five years not look like a widow or one of the pagans in Greenwich Village, or she could be spiteful about having woken up to find the fresh hundred from her wallet replaced with two twenties she wasn't entirely willing to trust.

The days followed much like this for a good six years, though Ram stopped being allowed to borrow her body and simply made rarely followed suggestions after she woke up during a theater showing of Don Juan Demarco  _(quite possibly one of the worst movies ever made; never mind the lead being Johnny Depp)_  and she found, once she'd basically run out of the theater, JD had kicked his dumbass out and was yelling at him in the lobby.

* * *

_0\. Guilt is a wonderful thing._

The year things really changed was half a year after the World Trade Center attack, Veronica having finally become higher up in her law firm, a defense attorney that her parents constantly bragged about once they moved to Florida; Veronica living in an apartment just off of Central Park where she was constantly visited by Martha and Macnamara once they took full advantage Vermont's legalizing gay civil unions, got hitched and settled down in New Jersey. Duke sometimes dropped by without calling, but only when she needed a place to crash and didn't want to stay in a hotel after spending over twenty hours on a plane or train for her job as a designer for Victoria Secret.

She'd just been walking around Central Park, sipping coffee and only vaguely aware of her ghosts in the corner of her eye, giving her space so she could enjoy her coffee and hotdog from one of the few vendors that still hung around as fall was turning to winter  _(despite JD complaining that she really needed to start eating more than that for lunch, she was underweight as it was)_  and almost been knocked over by a four year old that crashed into her legs.

Veronica had been wearing black that day, with her dark blue coat that looked rather similar to the one she wore in high school  _(she'd felt like a wave of nostalgia washed over her when she'd been listening to Chandler ramble off designer labels at Bolton's in the Empire State Building, JD having caught her hand and nodded towards it hanging near a mannequin in the back, "It suits you, don't you think?")_  and when she looked down at the little boy in a dark mauve jacket with little pink azaleas stitched on the back, she felt a little like the black cat everyone warned not to let cross a path.

When she looked up to find the child's mother running towards her, and not just her but the ghosts as well, Veronica realized why.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," the blonde woman apologized, coming to a halt just beside the boy, hair wind swept and her cheeks a little pink from the light chill in the air brought in with the fog off of the Atlantic that had everything colored in grey tones, "He's always running off here in the park. You'd think since he's so shy he'd slow down, but nope, always running into people so he can find more pretty colored trees."

"No," Veronica mumbled, momentarily feeling like vertigo was taking over her, JD making a point to rub his shoulder with his own and present himself almost like a shield on one side, Chandler eyeing the woman silently  _(her figure no longer in a kimono, but just a Venus print dress in softer red tones; a habit in dressing she'd taken to when tiny children sometimes saw her and she felt sleazy)_  and both the boys just staring at the two visitors; chilling silence rolling off of Kurt and nerves making the leaves that fluttered near Ram skitter away and draw the attention of the blonde kid before Veronica spoke again, "I didn't notice him coming, so it's both our fault, no harm done."

"Isn't that nice, Evan? What do you say?"

Tiny hands fiddled with the hem of the adorable fluffy coat, eyes entirely averted as he mumbled out, "I-I, um, I'm s-sorry. Thank y-you."

He then edged up beside his mother and hid his face in the side of her leg, an amusing sight that Ram giggled over and caused Kurt to smile brightly at parent and child; though with strain Veronica wasn't used to seeing on him, in spite of his actually maturing a little in the past decade.

The woman smiled at Veronica in something like warmth and hesitation of not at all knowing how to respond to her offspring stuttering so much, "He's shy, not much of a talker, you see."

Veronica nodded and bent over a little bit so that she was looking the boy in the eye properly, "That's okay, I'm not very talkative either; Evan, was it?"

He nodded, still trying to remain unseen, but at least looking at her.

"I'm Veronica. Sawyer, to most everyone. Ronnie to friends."

"I-Isn't that a-a-a boy's name?"

"Eh, not always. Bambi's a girl's name usually, but I seem to recall there being a deer of the same name that's really famous, hm?"

"I guess so," he smiled, clearly and substantially.

She smiled back, not exactly serene, but not derisively, and stood up to find the mother looking at her, contemplatively.

"Veronica Sawyer? I... I know you, don't I?"

Dark hair followed the motions as Veronica nodded, grip on her coffee tightening just a little as Kurt stepped a little closer to Evan and JD patted her shoulder, showing support loads more than he ever thought he could in this unprecedented situation among the four of them.

"Were you," the mother paused, watching as Evan took a few steps over to the side of the path and settled next to a chokecherry bush without the faintest clue of Ram following after him; like comparing a fluffy gosling to an adult goose, "Were you at Kurt Kelly's funeral in 1989?"

"Yes, I...knew...your brother," Veronica stated plainly, ignoring the way her stomach clenched at her pausing for a quarter of a second as she observed the other's reaction, "You're Heidi Kelly, right?"

"Ah, well, Heidi Hansen now," she replied, showing a plain looking ring on her left hand, "Been a long time since I've run into someone from Sherwood in this neck of the woods. Are you well?"

Veronica had no honest way to answer a question like that, but she worked her way through it, bluffed her way through conversation she often thought of as tedious with other people but was willing to suffer through for the sake of her ghosts and a woman whose lifetime she'd robbed of a sibling that never got to see her grow into what appeared to be a fine young woman and a mother.

The walk back to work left her feeling far more drained than it most often did, fake smile sliding off and the black of her clinical depression fizzling along her spine like an anchor was around her neck and pulling her down.

Down to a lower and deeper depression or something else was anyone's guess.

Her work was only half finished be the time she was on her way home around midnight, unmindful of muggers or other such assholes and collapsing into her bed without removing her coat and other clothes.

Tears stained her pillow for the first time in three years and she became achingly aware of arms that held no true substance surround her like they often did when she was at her lowest, or highest, or simply needed something ( _anything_ ) to keep her from breaking entirely.

_"Easy there, darling, easy..."_

She turned from her position, legs and arms tucked inwards and looked pathetically at Jason, unchanged in only as much as age and style, but insanity had been driven away through the years and he just looked at her in compassion and sadness as she seemed to choke on the sentence that came out, unbidden.

"Will it ever get easier, do you think?"

He set his forehead beside her own and their noses might have touched if both still had a heartbeat,  _"...It already has. Today proves that. If this had happened ten years ago, I would have had to talk you off of that bridge at the college you were always looking at. Today you just accepted how things are."_

That was always the thing she was never sure about with Jason Dean, but it was the part of him that had always drawn her attention. Her attention after the bomb had gone off and she'd stumbled home after the police had questioned-questioned-questioned her and there had been a little black hovering at the corner of her vision like a cloud or a cat that didn't want to be there to begin with. Her attention that came after he'd come back properly and they'd found a way to coexist with the other three. Her attention when he woke her up before her alarm every morning so she could see the sunrise and knew he was still there.

He tried to be honest and he usually was, even if she didn't fully understand his meaning.

And even if she did.

"And that's good?"

 _"I don't know,"_  he stated, incredibly honest, but not snide, and as kind as he could be,  _"But, I think so."_


End file.
